Anything
by Tiquismiquis
Summary: KentxLyn. ["Anything milady wishes." He managed to say it calmly enough but he felt himself flush so hard that it burned. Too late, he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries. He'd taken his vow of subservience to her and turned it into—into sport.]


_Author's Note: #manna'sfault_

* * *

The night was dark, the moon only half-full. Kent paced the camp on sentry duty and tried hard to keep his thoughts on his work., although it was difficult, and had been ever since that night a few weeks ago. Lady Lyndis had wanted to know if he stayed so close because it was what her grandfather had ordered, and one of his rare passions had overtaken him. Before she could leave he'd grabbed her hand, bolder than he ever thought he could be, and told her no_, no_, that was not the case.

Things had been oddly easy between them, after that. She spoke to him more often, going out of her way to show the favour, and he reached for her hand several times when they were alone, twining their fingers together as they spoke. He'd loved her for months, and in the wrong way—it was right and good for a knight to love his lady virtuously, to look up to her and desire to protect her. But to desire _her_, to want to remain at her side as a lover, as a friend and confidante, as a _husband_, rather than a retainer…he had no right to that.

So he kept his gestures simple: a caress in her hair, a stroke of his knuckles against her face, and tried not to think of doing anything more. It would be better if she never found out he cared for her so ardently; it was enough for her to know he cared at all. No harm would come of that.

Harm _would_ come if he didn't stay vigilant, he reminded himself as he began another route around the camp, and pulled his sword from his scabbard to as he tried to force himself to clear his mind.

That proved to be impossible, because someone stirred in the corner of his vision. He whipped toward the motion and saw a figure walking toward him, and it took him only a second to recognize her.

"Lady Lyndis, you should be asleep."

"I can't sleep," she told him as she stopped before him, twisting her long hair in her hands.

"Why not, my lady?" he asked, and reached for her hand. Her answer was only to move closer, wrapping her free arm around his waist, pressing herself against his chest. "Does something trouble you?"

"I need to know your intentions," she said, bold as always. "I need to know just how you care for me."

"How?" he repeated, confused, and she pulled away to look up at him.

"I hadn't considered it until Eliwood told me about court romances. How a knight is _supposed_ to love his lady, to follow her anywhere. It's not…real love, though. There's no friendship, and there's no desire. And this description has concerned me, because I thought…"

He couldn't say anything. He wasn't sure if he _should_. He wasn't allowed to love her any more deeply than the court romances permitted.

"I know we're friends," she continued at his silence. "I have no doubts about that. But the desire…"

He felt himself stiffen. _Desire_? He might have hated himself for the thoughts that sprung to mind immediately—all the times he'd caught himself staring at her bare legs, all the idle moments he spent wondering what it would be like to push her beneath him and kiss her, all the dreams of her that had him trembling when he woke—had Sain not found him flustered nearly to tears, and sat him down, and told him, "You can't always be a paragon. You are a normal man. You love her." Since then he hadn't felt such guilt, since his yearning didn't hurt her, but he couldn't have let her know. All the rules of chivalry forbade it. Even if she had beautiful lips, and soft hair, and a voice that made him wish to hear his name, sighed, cried out—

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, placing her hands on his chest, and it caught him completely off-guard.

"I-I…I—I can't answer that."

"Tell me."

It was an order; he was sworn to obey. "M-my lady, I…I can't help myself from desiring you. I promise I've tried."

A slow smile spread across her face, the opposite response of what he expected. "Do you want me right now?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"May I have proof of it?"

"…Anything milady wishes." He managed to say it calmly enough but he felt himself flush so hard that it burned. Too late, he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries. He'd taken his vow of subservience to her and turned it into—into _sport_.

But she smiled wider at it, and slid her hand down his chest to cup him in her hand; a gasp escaped him. She teasingly asked, "What other commands will you obey, Sir Kent?"

He shouldn't have said what he usually might have said, knowing that it was banter now, but he couldn't help himself; he meant it too sincerely: "I will obey all commands. I am your man."

"My _man,_" she repeated, trailing her fingers up to toy with his belt buckle. "It's nice to know you think like one. I was a little afraid that you were too much of a knight."

"A knight must always love his lady. Above all other women."

Her hand dropped back to her side. She stared into his eyes. "It would not be right of me to love one of my men above the others."

"It's true," he said, his heart sinking fast, and the way she returned her attention to his belt, grabbing it to pull him against her, only made his stomach twist. What was he to think? What did she want?

"So what if I wasn't your lady?" she asked, still fixing her gaze on his face. "What if I was simply Lyn? Would you still do whatever I asked you to?"

"Should I answer you as Sir Kent?"

"No. Just Kent."

"I would do anything Lyn wishes," he whispered, and was very happy to see that elicit a smile from her, sweet and pure, until she lowered her hands again and it took on a decidedly more mischievous quirk.

"Come to my tent when your watch is over?" she asked. "I want to stop being your lady for a long, long while."

Her words sent a rush through him so fast that it was akin to falling. "Yes. Yes, of course."

She turned and began to walk away, then, and he watched her with such surprise settling in that he almost dropped his sword. He'd just tightened his fingers around it when she turned around and told him,

"Just so you know—I intend to be giving a lot of commands either way."

He raised his sword to the bridge of his nose to salute his acknowledgement, knowing he couldn't muster up any sort of answer to that without his voice cracking, and she left with a satisfied smile.

The rest of his watch was the longest he'd ever had to watch, he was sure. By the end of it he ached, and when Sain came to relieve him he practically ran back to his tent, throwing down his sword, tearing off his armour. With the way she'd spoken to him earlier it occurred to him that she might want to take it off for him, but he'd let her another time, if she wanted. He needed to come to her simply as Kent.

She seemed to like that, if the way she kissed him and pulled him into her tent was any indication. Her lips felt even better than he imagined they would. He touched her hair, stroked the side of her face, wrapped his arms around her waist. Every bit of her was beautiful, _felt_ beautiful, even if it was far too dark to see.

After a while she pulled away to say, "Answer me something."

"Anything."

"How long have you loved me?"

The question shocked him, and for a moment he was too afraid to respond. He had to remind himself of where he was, who was in his arms, what they'd agreed upon, before he could lean his brow against hers and admit,

"Always, Lyn."

"Why didn't you ever tell me sooner?"

He supposed she knew the answer to that, but maybe she wanted to hear him say it. "I couldn't have my lady finding out."

"I'll never tell her," she whispered, and pressed her mouth to his again. He let himself relax, and devoted the rest of the night to doing everything she told him, with a complete and wonderful disregard for his vows.


End file.
